


Craters on Jupiter

by jeremey



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 17:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeremey/pseuds/jeremey
Summary: Set in a dystopian (?) future, criminals Helanea and Solomanik meet on a prison ship.





	Craters on Jupiter

**Author's Note:**

> Same description from "Cold Wind" applies:
> 
> "This is a short story I wrote for my creative writing class in 2017. I'm putting it here for preservation, and as such I won't be editing it from the state I found it in.  
Since it's a bit old by now, I'm not looking for criticism. Thanks.
> 
> General trigger warning for depressing topics."
> 
> This specific work also has talk of mental instability and medication, if that bothers you.
> 
> Note that the dialect in this work is a bit odd. I was going for a futuristic thing. Pan to a scene of me cowering in my hoodie as my entire class argues over whether the dialect was effective or not.

I miss the nostalgia of the twenty-one hundreds. If we were still back there, they’d prob’ly just put me in an electric chair and this spiel would all be done with.

But nah. Instead, I’m in a line with about five hundred other folk marching into one of those newfangl’d crimmy ships. (For you sea folk, I’m not talking a boat; I’m talking a space ship.)

“Marching” is an overstatement, really. I mean, there _ is _ this one dude like five places ahead of me and he’s for real marching, but pre’y much e’ryone else is slouching and trudging their feet in front of ‘em. (I want some of what they have March-Man drugg’d up on—but I digress.)

“Hurry _ up, _ you criminal _ scum,” _goes a blue-clad man. He’s playing a whipping-sorta sound effect from his phone, trying real hard to intimidate us (I can tell). The line doesn’t go any fast’r, perhaps out of spite.

But, eventually, e’ryone is in the ship. And _ wow! _ This place is _ huge! _ That is, if you’re used to living in a porta-potty. Although, to be fair, it look’d pre’y big from the outside.

Each of us gets escorted to perhaps ten-foot by ten-foot cells. Each has a shiny, new concrete flooring, a pristine steel toilet bowl, a li’l’ window for the outside world to mock you from, some speak’r holes in the ceiling—and how could I forget the _ luscious _ gray bunk beds made from _ pure polyester fibers! _ But yeah—bunk beds. Each cell holds two people (barely).

I get shov’d into cell 123 (a satisfying number, I know) with—who woulda guess’d it! March-Guy! And Jesus Christ, he’s quick to claim the top bunk. I mean, I was prob’ly going to use the bottom bunk anyways—less far to fall if I tossle off of my bed at night—but for real dude, I have feelings too, y’know.

The police people shut the cell door with a metallic thud. Marchy is dangling his feet off the edge of the bed like a child. And as I get a closer look at him, he practically _ is _a child. I’m gonna guess twenty-two.

“Heyo. What’s your name, Ma’am?” Is he speaking to me? I sludge onto the bottom bed and ignore him.

“Oh! I should introduce myself first! I’m Solomanik!” His head appears upside-down in front of me. He extends one of his hands towards me and chimes again. “What’s _ your _ name?”

“Prob’ly from here on out it’s 123-A, or 123-B.” I groan. “But it _ was _ Helanea.”

“…I like that name, Ma’am!” He pulls his hand back on top of his bunk, a pinch of defeat sparkling in his eyes.

“Hey dude, why don’t you play the quiet game for a while so I can get some sleep?” I’m not tired_ , _really. Well, maybe a stressy-kinda tired. I’m not in the mood to chat.

“…Okay.” I hear him lay down. Good riddance.

Just as I’m about to get a li’l’ bit of shut-eye, the room starts shifting a bit, and then a bit more, and then—Christ! Why don’t they put us in seat belts when they do this? I feel like I’m being consum’d by my flimsy li’l’ mattress.

A nice, crisp voice comes from the ceiling-speak’r-holes. “Hello… I’m Don Joe, your pilot for this flight. We’re set to reach Jupiter by three in the morning. Safety instructions are locat’d under your beds in case of emergency.” _ Click. _ I feel like screaming until the inertia evens out. 

“Are you alright, Helanea?” I open my eyes to find a scamp peeking over the edge of his mattress.

“Yes.”

“Have you been to space before?”

“Of course.” No, actually. Space vacations are expensive and me and my family were always trying to save money. I’m not in the mood to share my sob story with this kid right now, though.

“Aren’t the stars so _ pretty?” _He faces the window with a big, stupid smile on his face.

And… Wow, the stars really are beautiful. I smile back and nod.

Solomanik tossles a li’l’ bit in his blanket before going still. I can faintly hear a slow, rhythmic breathing. Maybe this whole thing won’t be so bad after all? The twinkling lights out the window lull me to sleep as well.

Perhaps a few hours later, I’m awoken by the ugly noise of some sort of wind storm? There’s no air in space? Wait, no. There’s air in Jupiter. On Jupiter. No. You breathe air. You can’t breathe on Jupiter. Okay.

The bed feels very unsteady. My only hope is that the ship doesn’t collapse on itself. But then… Everything just goes really still? Outside the window is a weird orangy-blue. And then—

“Time to get up, everybody,” the ceiling speak’r holes chime. “Your new homes are waiting for you just outside.” 

A yawn emanates from above my bed. Solomanik thuds down to the floor. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone this tired in my life—like, the circles under his eyes are practically pitch black. It’s kinda scary.

He knocks a bit on our cell door. After a few minutes of no response, he knocks even harder. Eventually, some sort of official-looking prisony person appears.

“What is it?” the official dude grunts.

“When can I get my medication?”

“Medication?” The official dude peeks at our cell number. “I’ll be right back.”

Wow. I knew this kid was on drugs. I call’d it. 

The official dude comes back about ten minutes later. “We don’t have any medication on file for cell 123.”

_ “What?” _

“There’s nothin’ I can do about it, kid.”

“Show me the file.”

“I’m not allow’d to do that.”

“Show me the _ fucking _ file.”

“Listen, kid.” The official dude gets close to Solomanik’s ear and whispers. I can hardly make out what he says. _“There is no file._ _The manager wanted to cut costs and he doesn’t believe in medication. We don’t even have aspirin around here.” _

Solomanik looks like he’s about to scream. 

_ “Hey, hey, hey _ _ … What medicine do you take? I can have someone get it to you on a restock trip if you promise to be quiet about it.” _

“It’s not OTC.”

_ “As long as you’re not taking meth or some shit like that I can get it to you.” _

Solomanik looks reliev’d and whispers some sort of weird medication that starts with a Z (or maybe an X) that I’ll never be able to spell.

_ “Alright.” _Official Dude jots something scribbly down on his notepad. “Hold tight for just right now. A buddy of mine will be on tomorrow’s restock ship. I’ll tell him to look for you.”

_ “Thank you.” _

Official Dude closes the door lightly, but it still makes a little tinking noise as it touches the wall. You can almost hear Official Dude’s footsteps as he goes down the hallway.

Solomanik sits on the side of my bed and buries his face in his hands. I want to console him, but I’ve never been so good with this kind of stuff.

“Do you think there’s microphones or something in this room?” Solomanik asks. 

Strange question. I look around, don’t see anything, respond with a shrug. 

“Whatever. It’s not like anyone actually goes through all of those things, anyways.”

“Why are you asking?”

“You know why they put all of us on this ship, yeah?”

I nod. I don’t know, though.

Solomanik sees through me like a ziplock bag. He shakes his head. “I used to do a lot of research on criminal stuff. Espec’lly prisons and jails, how they sort e’ryone, how they treat e’ryone.” He pauses for a second. “As it turns out, on these kinds of ships, e’ryone on board committ’d the same crime. So… Who did you kill?”

No. No. No. Oh God, no. I want’d to forget about this. I knew this would be brought up again eventually, but I thought it would be by an official. I want’d this guy to become my friend. I don’t want him to think I’m a killer. I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t mean to kill him. That’s a lie. That’s a big lie. It was premeditat’d. The e-polygraph test doesn’t lie. No. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to. Shaky, shaky lines. Shaky, shaky, up and down… E’ryone on this ship committ’d the same crime? He kill’d someone, too? Christ. Jesus Christ.

“Helanea? I’m sorry. You don’t need to tell me—I just—”

“My husband. It was my husband. Danicarter Mere. He’s dead as shit.”

“Oh…” He pauses for a second, then chuckles. “That means you’re single, eh?” He grossly wiggles his eyebrows.

“Fuck off, kid.”

“Heh. I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

“Who did you kill?”

“Huh?”

“You said e’ryone on here kill’d someone. Who did you kill?”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

“Um, well… Nevermind.”

“Aw come on, now you got me all curious.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this.”

I've never been very pushy, so I stop there. That’s a lie. I'm usually _ very _ pushy. But I do think people deserve some general privacy. Is that something I think? Whatever.

A bit of commotion rumbles outside. A man in khacki pants opens our door and signals us to get up. “Breakfast is outside,” he says. Familiar faces from yesterday can be seen walking down the hallway. But… 

“Outside?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Do we need like, a suit or an air tank? Or?”

“Helanea,” Solomanik interrupts. “We’re in an atmosphere bubble.”

“What he said,” chimes Tan Pants. “Come on.”

_ What the hell is an atmosphere bubble? _Solomanik pats me on the back and we go down the hallway together.

And Goddamn. The little view I got from that window was just the start of it. This is surreal. The sky is like—an entirely new color. I think I’d like to call it infraorange. It also looks really clear, as in like, not stormy. But we’re on Jupiter, right? The storm capitol of the universe? Okay, well, I just made that up. But it’s gotta be up there on the list of stormy places. Um, right? Anyways.

Escaping from my thoughts, I find myself sitting next to Solomanik on a cruddy tablebench, with cruddy food in front of me. It looks like dog food… It smells like dog food.

“This shit takes like dog food,” Solomanik says as he coughs down the pellets. Yeah.

“Holy shit! Hey, Sully!” a distant voice bellows in our direction.

Sully?

_ “Oh my God,” _Solomanik whispers under his breath. A pack of college freshmen crowd around our table. 

“Hi George. ‘Sup?” Solomanik spits out.

“Who’s your new friend? She looks like a real _ cougar _ if you know what I mean.” George shoves me a bit with his elbow. I avoid eye contact… Cougar? Aw, gee.

Solomanik undertakes a crooked smile. “She’s fine. How’s Chrys been doing?” This seems to have struck one of George’s nerves.

“Um, y’know. Well, um.” The freshmen put their eyes on him, curious.

“She’s… Well, she’s dead. Um. She was murder’d, I think. Well, she was definitely murder’d. It’s…” The freshmen pat George on the back. “It’s been hard.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.” Solomanik loses his weird smile. “Did you kill her?”

“God. Oh God, no. Uh, honestly, sometimes I wasn't so nice to her, _ you _know… But I would never kill her.” George tears up. “But it’s prob’ly for the best that I'm here, anyways… Ha ha.”

Solomanik chews on a pellet, loudly.

“Um, you mind if we sit here?”

“Fine.”

The next lot of minutes are a bit awkward, but eventually someone calls over a megaphone for us to head to the recreational area. George bids us goodbye, and him and his gang go along.

“That’s Georgian Huntre. He didn't kill his girlfriend.”

What…? Um, okay?

“I did.”

Uh?

“It was the best thing for her. George is a dick.” He shrugs.

“So, that’s why you’re here?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“I was caught killing someone else.” He groans. “Don't worry about it. I was off my meds for like two weeks. They help me make better decisions.”

“But… You're not getting any today.”

“Don't remind me. I'll be fine, prob’ly.”

This kid is crazy. But I mean, I guess I'm crazy, too. About e’ryone here is crazy, I bet. But things are okay. Solomanik will be okay. I will be okay. Yeah.

I look back at him, and he has his eyes clos’d and is smiling real hard. Um… Well, I don't wanna disturb him, so I follow the crowd of people into what I assume is the recreational area. So… All of these people prob’ly kill’d someone? Yikes. It’s better to just… Not think about it.

“Helanea!” I hear from behind me. Is this kid still talking to me? Should I reply? What am I talking about? Solomanik isn't a bad person. Um, well. He’s about as good as e’ryone else here, I guess. But everything’s okay. Everything’s good.

“Helanea.” He’s right next to me.

“Solomanik.”

“I've read a whole lot about these atmosphere bubbles before I came here.” He has a dumb smile on his face. “I wanna see something, and I want you to come with me.”

I don't trust him. He’s a psychopath hiding under an innocent ruse.

“Helanea.” He frowns lightly. “I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise.”

…Okay.

We walk out of the sight of the guards easily, as they’re focusing on those in the recreational area. The land before us looks like an endless desert. It’s beautiful, in a weird, lifeless sorta way.

After nonstop walking for about fifthteen minutes, the sky gets a bit noisier.

“See, Helanea? That’s the _ real _ Jupiter.” He points to a windy area about twenty yards ahead of us. I think I can see—gassy animals? Ha ha, no, not that kind of gassy. Like the matter kind of gassy. They're kind of like ghosts, and as we near the edge of the atmosphere bubble, they come to greet us.

“These are foggies. Don't worry, they're friendly.”

I try to pet one, but my hand goes right through it.

“You know how living things on Earth are made up of solids and liquids? Living things on gas planets are made up of gas.”

“…Cool.”

“But they aren't what I want’d to see. Come on.” Solomanik sprints towards unstable ground. I follow behind.

“This is the edge of the atmosphere bubble. Careful.” He smiles at me. “It’s beautiful, isn't it? That’s Jupiter down there. Unfit for earthling life, but perfect for gascious life.”

I don't think I share his enthusiasm, but I smile anyways.

“Helanea. I didn't kill Chrys out of cold blood. I've never kill’d anyone out of cold blood. I kill people who’re better off dead… Georgian always bragg’d about about how he beat Chrys. I tried to get him to stop, but he kept going on about how they’re in ‘a healthy sub/dom relationship.’ I sav’d Chrys. I sav’d her.”

I really don't know what to think of this right now. Why did he bring me out here?

“I'm here because I got caught killing a neighbor. I could hear him beat his wife every day on my way home. Her screaming was _ putrid.” _ Solomanik shudders. _ “ _But he also had children. I was trying to save all of them. I was caught on a security camera.” He tightens his fists. “It was the wife that turn’d me in. And, man, that hit me right here.” He points to his heart. “I figured that she also wanted him dead, but she came screaming at me, telling me to get the hell out… And that got me to thinking, maybe I'm going on about this all the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think I need to save people from me.”

What?

“I'm a fucking psychopath, Helanea. I know it. I'm delusional.”

“You know I kill’d someone, too. I kill’d my _ husband. _”

He shakes his head. “It’s different. I bet a thousand bucks you were under some sort of petty rage.” 

He’s not wrong, although he could have been wrong.

“But me? I tried to save people. I tried to change their lives. And I can see now that I've changed them for the worst. I’ve been thinking about this all last night and all this morning.”

I'm dumbfounded. No one’s ever spoken to me like this.

“I've gotta go.”

And with that, Solomanik jumps out of the atmosphere bubble. But… The strangest part about it is, that I find my hand clasp’d around his wrist.

“What the hell? Let go of me!”

I shake my head. Pulling him up is like wrestling an alligator. I end up dragging him back to solid ground.

“Why?” He asks. “Why, why, _ why?” _

“I think that if you can accept that something you’ve done was bad, you're already a better person.” 

I beckon him in to a motherly hug. He doesn't hug back. 

“Plus, you’ll have your meds tomorrow. They help you make better decisions.”

He leans his head into my shoulder, sobbing lightly. Everything will be okay.


End file.
